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Most people seem to doubt Mr. Bush’s compacity to continue to fuck up with such limited time left in his presidency. If’s he’s proven anything to America, it’s that his potential for moral debachery is swift and infinite. What’s up his sleeve now? The Times/Aol/Warner conglomerate no doubt has a left bias. I’m annoyed that all of these info-tainment news hubs report their stories in cryptic code; I can’t just read a freaking news story, I have to read, readjust the story in context,reinterpret it through a neutral lens, and reason out the significance of the story in general. If I wasn’t a freak and didn’t enjoy knowing crap, I wouldn’t go through that trouble and remain (more) confused. I’m sorry, America, it’s not fair. In a recent article, Times states:”Renewed violence in Afghanistan threatens to undermine President Bush’s foreign policy initiatives.” Wait, really? The US foreign policy in Afghanistan is stupid. Quick synopsis: Terrorist attack on september 11th–> Bush Administration and his newley established ‘ War Cabinet’ demand Afghanistan’s Taliban to hand over bin Laden or else face attack( despite the fact that most of the pilots were from saudi arabia aka the Bush Family’s personal oil bitch)–>Afghanistan ask’s US to give evidence that bin Laden was behind the attacks, and America can’t and doesn’t but just gets frusterated and invades Kabul–>America overthrows the Taliban government and re-installs an old president leaving the country in political and economic upheval–>Afghanistan was sent to saudi arabia and was never to be touched white western hands–> US sends hundreds of afghani’s to guantanamo and tortures them. If you ask me, the real reason we invaded afghanistan was to a) get a permanent base set up in the middle east so we’re close to the ‘axis of evil’ and b) have a base set up close to china and india and russia. Anyway, America’s foreign policy when it comes to afghanistan is pathetic; we use a western lens to analyze the shortcomings of their political and social culture and use that as more of a reason for our presence there. They are not a threat. So there is now a reported elevated violence in Afghanistan. So what does Bush do? Go on a tour throughout the middle east to gain support.For…further imperialism? Let’s think this one through. Western influence eradicating authentic middle eastern culture and the intimate US oil-for-weapons trade arangement are in large part what prompted these radical traditionalist groups. Is Bush too dense to see simple cause and effect? So the US was there, then the US got kicked out with a new traditional uprising against the US, and now the US is back and is sighting signs up more uprising ( ‘ increased violence’) as a reason to STAY? Is bush nuts?

I think that Bush thinks he’s doing missionary work, weather or not that infers that he’s acting from a religous mindset.

I do not like missionaries. I do like the Peace Corps. The difference: the peace core ( usually) asks the people who live there about what changes they want to se instead of deciding that for them.

Allllright. Now to go put on some makeup and go party. HHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAPPPPPPYYYYYY NEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW YEAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRS!!! next post- my resolution.

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I’m about to implode. Literally, my belly button will transform into a dark, unknown vortex and suck in everything fleshy and freckley around it. I’m lost. And i don’t are if it’s a cultural taboo to admit one’s own shortcomings but I am fucking lost and it is fucking dark outside and not even the smooth sounds of john legend are jazzing me up.So many things are making my blood boil.I just want to unscrew my hands, unscrew my feet and just let all of the viscous magma out of my fucking body. I wanna Chain smoke and build it in my lungs and fill them until they burn and singe and inhale inhale and let it wallow in the open cavern that is my chest. and hold it, then inhale and it billows up into my head. dizzy dizzy out my ears and into the stagnant silent air and nobody sees anything is wrong. Fix me fucking fix me beacuse i can’t fix myself. Hold me, im so fucking cold and alone and detached and sourounded by tragedy because i cannot take a break from work because I am poor. I. Need. A. Fucking. Break.It’s not called winter work season. Nuts. I’m going nuts there some day. I love it and i hate it just like everything else in my life i feel it in extremes.I call the fucking ambulance to save a seizuring womans life. Actually, not a big deal. But today she cries and looks me in the eye and tells me i don’t give a shit about helping women, that i don’t give a shit about what she has to say and the other staff and I are a self-interested joke. Haaah. I really had the option of ignoring my walkie-talkie, eating dinner, and letting her continue to seizure in the rain until she flatlined for the last time. But then the fact that i got so emotionally defensive made me think that there may be some truth in what she was saying. And when i really thoguht about it, she was mostly right. I work at the shelter for mostly selfish reasons. I do it because it’s humbeling and a learning experiance and I am inspired by the resiliance of every woman and child who works and lives there. I get all of that out of having the shelter be a novelty in my life for a month here, a summer there, and at the end of my 9 hour shifts I float away to their anti-world. I care about these women to be in the highest spirits possible when im there and do the best job i can, but then…what? Do i actually gibve a fuck about these individuals. Yes. But because they are them? Maybe. Because that could just as easily be me. More likley. It’s fucking selfish. And honestly, a shelter is kind of where i see myself living in about 45 years. There is no way the collaboration of my self-destructive habits and mindset by then wont melt me in a puddle. Like Alex Mack…..( hiatus taken out in free write)…. i just want to break free. release.Another lady at the shelter told me about what i twas like to hear voices to kill your grandkids, and another told me that this shelter saved her life so at the end of the day i guess my view of how im spending my fucking days is somewhat balanced. fter work i went to an AA meeting because most women at the shelter go and so does the staff and , well, friends and family.I wanted to see what was up.And, after stories, ive decided: I AM STILL SO MUCH MORE FUCKED UP THAN THSE PEOPLE. At least they are activly on the road to recovery, i just ruminate and i can try my fucking hardest to be all i can but it falls short. god some of them had been though shiiiiiiiiiit though, but they seem logical. i am inept, completly unable to function, and all ihave e is impulse and impulse isgoing to fucking kill me and its probaly good i cant afford hard drugs 24/7 because i would most likley let myself slip into a nodding, blissfull addiction fuck.Thank god for being poor?

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I’m about to implode. Literally, my belly button will transform into a dark, unknown vortex and suck in everything fleshy and freckley around it. I’m lost. And i don’t are if it’s a cultural taboo to admit one’s own shortcomings but I am fucking lost and it is fucking dark outside and not even the smooth sounds of john legend are jazzing me up.So many things are making my blood boil.I just want to unscrew my hands, unscrew my feet and just let all of the viscous magma out of my fucking body. I wanna Chain smoke and build it in my lungs and fill them until they burn and singe and inhale inhale and let it wallow in the open cavern that is my chest. and hold it, then inhale and it billows up into my head. dizzy dizzy out my ears and into the stagnant silent air and nobody sees anything is wrong. Fix me fucking fix me beacuse i can’t fix myself. Hold me, im so fucking cold and alone and detached and sourounded by tragedy because i cannot take a break from work because I am poor. I. Need. A. Fucking. Break.It’s not called winter work season. Nuts. I’m going nuts there some day. I love it and i hate it just like everything else in my life i feel it in extremes.I call the fucking ambulance to save a seizuring womans life. Actually, not a big deal. But today she cries and looks me in the eye and tells me i don’t give a shit about helping women, that i don’t give a shit about what she has to say and the other staff and I are a self-interested joke. Haaah. I really had the option of ignoring my walkie-talkie, eating dinner, and letting her continue to seizure in the rain until she flatlined for the last time. But then the fact that i got so emotionally defensive made me think that there may be some truth in what she was saying. And when i really thoguht about it, she was mostly right. I work at the shelter for mostly selfish reasons. I do it because it’s humbeling and a learning experiance and I am inspired by the resiliance of every woman and child who works and lives there. I get all of that out of having the shelter be a novelty in my life for a month here, a summer there, and at the end of my 9 hour shifts I float away to their anti-world. I care about these women to be in the highest spirits possible when im there and do the best job i can, but then…what? Do i actually gibve a fuck about these individuals. Yes. But because they are them? Maybe. Because that could just as easily be me. More likley. It’s fucking selfish. And honestly, a shelter is kind of where i see myself living in about 45 years. There is no way the collaboration of my self-destructive habits and mindset by then wont melt me in a puddle. Like Alex Mack…..( hiatus taken out in free write)…. i just want to break free. release.Another lady at the shelter told me about what i twas like to hear voices to kill your grandkids, and another told me that this shelter saved her life so at the end of the day i guess my view of how im spending my fucking days is somewhat balanced. fter work i went to an AA meeting because most women at the shelter go and so does the staff and , well, friends and family.I wanted to see what was up.And, after stories, ive decided: I AM STILL SO MUCH MORE FUCKED UP THAN THSE PEOPLE. At least they are activly on the road to recovery, i just ruminate and i can try my fucking hardest to be all i can but it falls short. god some of them had been though shiiiiiiiiiit though, but they seem logical. i am inept, completly unable to function, and all ihave e is impulse and impulse isgoing to fucking kill me and its probaly good i cant afford hard drugs 24/7 because i would most likley let myself slip into a nodding, blissfull addiction fuck.Thank god for being poor?

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Regret is stupid. Well, I’m being stupid and I know it and I can’t help it. Actually, I think there would be something seriously wrong with me if i didn’t regret some of the messed up childhod antics I’m ruminating over.

It’s a slow Saturday morning at work.I finished Steven Colbert’s book ( aweeeeesommmeee) and am blazing through book number two, Born On a Blue Day: Inside the Extraordinary Mind of an Autistic Savant. It’s written almost like a memoir; the author takes the reader from his birth throughout his life, as the title alludes to, inside the mind of an autistic savant. It’s unexpedectly prompting my mind to tangent down memory lane…

I’m going to treat this blog like a little priestly confession box because I just need to get this out of my head. In elementary school, middle school and high school, I had classes with a wise, introspective boy named Thatcher. In fifth grade homeroom, he dominated show-and-tell time with an array of love-songs he wrote, reading aloud Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven ( which i associate with him to this day), and explaining his amusement park brain baby that he created to spend his inheritance on. Amoung other labels like creative and artsy, Thatcher was a higher-functioning Autistic boy. At the time I didn’ stop to even think what the world could have looked like through his eyes. Reading this book is giving me insight to what coudl have made him comfortable ( routine, repitition, rocking, social isolation, numbers) and what could have been distressing ( loud noises, overstimulation, social confrontation, etc.) Unfortunately for his childhood and my belated guilty concious, I was a Bitch. The things we did to harrass that poor kid…name calling, getting every cool girl in class to stand around him in a circle and bob while making beeping noises and ‘explode’ after 13 bobs, poke fun, exclude him, and list goes on. Terrible shit. To rationalize it, my friends and I were equally mean to other non autistic kids. But I should have known better and been sensitive. My dad is handicapped for god sake, my uncle, my cousinS, my aunt…exposure to handicap mental and physical shold have given me some empathy. I wish i could take back harrassing thatcher now, but how the hell would i even do that?There are a handful of people who recieved no mercy from me. One other girl in particular in 6th grade, I was a ringleader in terrorizing. It was bad–she ended up switching schools. I formally apologized to her before she left, but honestly, what difference does it make at a certain point? The breaking point when I realized what a Bitch I was came when ( on a dare) I threw a quarter at her when she was on all fours coloring a science project poster and said something to the likes of: ” here’s a quarter, go buy a bra.” Yeah…since we all know I am quite volumptuous now, imagine the irony in a 11 year old version of me saying that statement, 4’3” 60 lbs, whose only use for a bra was as a fashion acsessory.I’m friends now with another girl I helped bully in the 5th grade, and we ‘joked’ about it the other day.One week “shun” was conveniently one of our spelling words. It happened to rhyme with her last name. That didn’t work in her favor.Another girl transferred to my middle school in the 7th grade from NY. She was in my Spanish class; on valentines day, I made really creepy valentines in spanish and gave them to her. She thought I was a lesbian until junior year of high school.THe list goes on. I just don’t think there is much point to still feeling guilty about all of this. There it is, in the open, out of me and onto paper.

Back to this book though, it is interesting. A character was introduced and became part of the story and plot. Later, the author explains, ” Looking back, Anne was the personification of my feelings of lonliness and uncertanty.” She never existed outside of his mind. HAhaha.What?

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Regret is stupid. Well, I’m being stupid and I know it and I can’t help it. Actually, I think there would be something seriously wrong with me if i didn’t regret some of the messed up childhod antics I’m ruminating over.

It’s a slow Saturday morning at work.I finished Steven Colbert’s book ( aweeeeesommmeee) and am blazing through book number two, Born On a Blue Day: Inside the Extraordinary Mind of an Autistic Savant. It’s written almost like a memoir; the author takes the reader from his birth throughout his life, as the title alludes to, inside the mind of an autistic savant. It’s unexpedectly prompting my mind to tangent down memory lane…

I’m going to treat this blog like a little priestly confession box because I just need to get this out of my head. In elementary school, middle school and high school, I had classes with a wise, introspective boy named Thatcher. In fifth grade homeroom, he dominated show-and-tell time with an array of love-songs he wrote, reading aloud Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven ( which i associate with him to this day), and explaining his amusement park brain baby that he created to spend his inheritance on. Amoung other labels like creative and artsy, Thatcher was a higher-functioning Autistic boy. At the time I didn’ stop to even think what the world could have looked like through his eyes. Reading this book is giving me insight to what coudl have made him comfortable ( routine, repitition, rocking, social isolation, numbers) and what could have been distressing ( loud noises, overstimulation, social confrontation, etc.) Unfortunately for his childhood and my belated guilty concious, I was a Bitch. The things we did to harrass that poor kid…name calling, getting every cool girl in class to stand around him in a circle and bob while making beeping noises and ‘explode’ after 13 bobs, poke fun, exclude him, and list goes on. Terrible shit. To rationalize it, my friends and I were equally mean to other non autistic kids. But I should have known better and been sensitive. My dad is handicapped for god sake, my uncle, my cousinS, my aunt…exposure to handicap mental and physical shold have given me some empathy. I wish i could take back harrassing thatcher now, but how the hell would i even do that?There are a handful of people who recieved no mercy from me. One other girl in particular in 6th grade, I was a ringleader in terrorizing. It was bad–she ended up switching schools. I formally apologized to her before she left, but honestly, what difference does it make at a certain point? The breaking point when I realized what a Bitch I was came when ( on a dare) I threw a quarter at her when she was on all fours coloring a science project poster and said something to the likes of: ” here’s a quarter, go buy a bra.” Yeah…since we all know I am quite volumptuous now, imagine the irony in a 11 year old version of me saying that statement, 4’3” 60 lbs, whose only use for a bra was as a fashion acsessory.I’m friends now with another girl I helped bully in the 5th grade, and we ‘joked’ about it the other day.One week “shun” was conveniently one of our spelling words. It happened to rhyme with her last name. That didn’t work in her favor.Another girl transferred to my middle school in the 7th grade from NY. She was in my Spanish class; on valentines day, I made really creepy valentines in spanish and gave them to her. She thought I was a lesbian until junior year of high school.THe list goes on. I just don’t think there is much point to still feeling guilty about all of this. There it is, in the open, out of me and onto paper.

Back to this book though, it is interesting. A character was introduced and became part of the story and plot. Later, the author explains, ” Looking back, Anne was the personification of my feelings of lonliness and uncertanty.” She never existed outside of his mind. HAhaha.What?

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It’s winter time. Even those who sleep nude (…I’m not judgeing) are probably inclined to wear pajamas. It’s the holiday season. Even those who are ademently against the resteraunt ‘tipping’ conspiracy buy a gift or two to the people they care about. I mean, naturally, consumerism is the most patriotic way to communicate that you care.Just saw an advertisment for Victoria Secret Pajamas. Apperantly, they’re only $29 and up! Fact: there isn’t that much material or effort that goes into mass manufactering Santa slumber spankies.Contradicting fact: the pajamas cost almost 30 dollars. Possible explanations:Santa doesn’t subsidize un-Christian undergarments, the spankies are woven wth golden thread by Rumplestilskin himself, or maybe they are vegan and kosher edible pajamas blessed by a Rabbi.It’s probably the last one. Honestly, YEAH, I like frilly shit as much as the next girl, but a) those are not pajamas unless you enoy hypothermia and b) I don’t think i could ever rationalize spending a few hours work to purchase something that an old jersey in my closet can provide for me for FREE. The catch is, if/when someone/my mom bought/buys me this stuff, rocking it is not an issue. So sue me,I was taught to consume as a gerber graduate before I even knew the alphabet.Second nature, and in this case, sexy second nature.

Today was bittersweet. Woke at 2 pm. Watched some Superbad, some of my closest friends came over and we shot the shit and laughed, went to a comedy/magic show downtownn with mom and dad and bro and his girlfriend, came home at 11 ish and now am going to bed to wake up in a few hours to go to work. chill day, indeed.

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It’s winter time. Even those who sleep nude (…I’m not judgeing) are probably inclined to wear pajamas. It’s the holiday season. Even those who are ademently against the resteraunt ‘tipping’ conspiracy buy a gift or two to the people they care about. I mean, naturally, consumerism is the most patriotic way to communicate that you care.Just saw an advertisment for Victoria Secret Pajamas. Apperantly, they’re only $29 and up! Fact: there isn’t that much material or effort that goes into mass manufactering Santa slumber spankies.Contradicting fact: the pajamas cost almost 30 dollars. Possible explanations:Santa doesn’t subsidize un-Christian undergarments, the spankies are woven wth golden thread by Rumplestilskin himself, or maybe they are vegan and kosher edible pajamas blessed by a Rabbi.It’s probably the last one. Honestly, YEAH, I like frilly shit as much as the next girl, but a) those are not pajamas unless you enoy hypothermia and b) I don’t think i could ever rationalize spending a few hours work to purchase something that an old jersey in my closet can provide for me for FREE. The catch is, if/when someone/my mom bought/buys me this stuff, rocking it is not an issue. So sue me,I was taught to consume as a gerber graduate before I even knew the alphabet.Second nature, and in this case, sexy second nature.

Today was bittersweet. Woke at 2 pm. Watched some Superbad, some of my closest friends came over and we shot the shit and laughed, went to a comedy/magic show downtownn with mom and dad and bro and his girlfriend, came home at 11 ish and now am going to bed to wake up in a few hours to go to work. chill day, indeed.

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Most movies suck; however, Juno did not. I don’t have the attention span for most movies, so take this opinion with the heavier-than-paper weight it deserves. To clairfy: It is not set in Alaska. I know, i thought so too. It’s about a 16 year old girl who gets pregnant with her crush’s baby…and goes through with the pregnancy process…and gives it up for adoption to a rich, white suberbian god-fearing lady. I bet Fox had an orgasm when they saw this storyline: teen girl is the protagonist, teen girl doesn’t abort, teen girl ( easily?) gives her child to Jennifer Gardner. Color me a skeptic but i honestly don’t believe that Fox Searchlightjust happened to randomly find this movie at the Toronto Film Festival, adopt and adapt it to be re-released as a feature film RIGHT before an election where abortion is a main issue both on the line to be lost or attained and establishing the line between parties. If a conservative administration owns the executive branch, it’s likley that the next supreme court justices to be put in place ( unti he/she pretty much dies) will also be conservative, tipping the equillibrium and Roe v. Wade will be sucsessfully overturned.But maybe I’m looking to short-term to see the benifit of an abortionless nation. MAYBE after about 2 decades of that, the disparity between classeswill be so drastic (the lower clas will have many more children with much less government support to feed them, etc) that there will be a HUGE backlash REVOLUTION! This second civil war would actually foster inter-racial fraternity because accidental immaculation is colorblind, so white,black, mexican, etc would all be in the financial dog-house. The poor would team together to fight the rich assholes with a two pronged strategy: resistance through individual voices uniting as one in protest and action, and individuals accepting and saterizing their politicized bodies. The first part would accomplish the good ol trusty power in numbers, and the second part is a less concious and more acidic epidemic to the societal fabric.To make sense of that ambiguity, i’ll pitch some historica context. When women were thought of as walking wombs with emotions and lacking logic and reasoning capabilities, there was an outbreak of hysteria; in the 50’s when women were socially limited to the house, there was an outbreak of agoraphobia; and presently the standard of beauty for white women is very thin, and we’re seeing an outbreak of eating disorders. SO I’m thinking in response to governments hand controlling women’s bodies and forbiding them to decide their own trackfor motherhood, more than hands will be constantly laid turning the female into a perpeptual incubator producing child after child. Even though hysteria/agoraphobia/anorexia/human incubator are self-effacing methods of resisting society, they all sure as hell highlight the greater problem at hand. This revolution will actually be more like a religous battle;the poor will be fighting in the name of god because he’s been the only benevolent guiding light in their battle with poverty, and the rich love god because they’re particually made in his image, right. So guess who wins? The Poor. And how? Through self-destruction. Think of the LA riotsand the catastrophic damage done by burning down and looting their own/korean neighborhoods and imagine that carbon copied throughout the country. The economy would tumble down like pulling out the bottom peices in a Jenga set.Although the poor would lose more, the rich would have further to fall down when they fell. Goodbye abusing the domestic agriculture trade, goodbye export quota, goodbye American Dynasty. And we’d have to start a new. Law #1: Abortion allowed.

what a nerd.

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Most movies suck; however, Juno did not. I don’t have the attention span for most movies, so take this opinion with the heavier-than-paper weight it deserves. To clairfy: It is not set in Alaska. I know, i thought so too. It’s about a 16 year old girl who gets pregnant with her crush’s baby…and goes through with the pregnancy process…and gives it up for adoption to a rich, white suberbian god-fearing lady. I bet Fox had an orgasm when they saw this storyline: teen girl is the protagonist, teen girl doesn’t abort, teen girl ( easily?) gives her child to Jennifer Gardner. Color me a skeptic but i honestly don’t believe that Fox Searchlightjust happened to randomly find this movie at the Toronto Film Festival, adopt and adapt it to be re-released as a feature film RIGHT before an election where abortion is a main issue both on the line to be lost or attained and establishing the line between parties. If a conservative administration owns the executive branch, it’s likley that the next supreme court justices to be put in place ( unti he/she pretty much dies) will also be conservative, tipping the equillibrium and Roe v. Wade will be sucsessfully overturned.But maybe I’m looking to short-term to see the benifit of an abortionless nation. MAYBE after about 2 decades of that, the disparity between classeswill be so drastic (the lower clas will have many more children with much less government support to feed them, etc) that there will be a HUGE backlash REVOLUTION! This second civil war would actually foster inter-racial fraternity because accidental immaculation is colorblind, so white,black, mexican, etc would all be in the financial dog-house. The poor would team together to fight the rich assholes with a two pronged strategy: resistance through individual voices uniting as one in protest and action, and individuals accepting and saterizing their politicized bodies. The first part would accomplish the good ol trusty power in numbers, and the second part is a less concious and more acidic epidemic to the societal fabric.To make sense of that ambiguity, i’ll pitch some historica context. When women were thought of as walking wombs with emotions and lacking logic and reasoning capabilities, there was an outbreak of hysteria; in the 50’s when women were socially limited to the house, there was an outbreak of agoraphobia; and presently the standard of beauty for white women is very thin, and we’re seeing an outbreak of eating disorders. SO I’m thinking in response to governments hand controlling women’s bodies and forbiding them to decide their own trackfor motherhood, more than hands will be constantly laid turning the female into a perpeptual incubator producing child after child. Even though hysteria/agoraphobia/anorexia/human incubator are self-effacing methods of resisting society, they all sure as hell highlight the greater problem at hand. This revolution will actually be more like a religous battle;the poor will be fighting in the name of god because he’s been the only benevolent guiding light in their battle with poverty, and the rich love god because they’re particually made in his image, right. So guess who wins? The Poor. And how? Through self-destruction. Think of the LA riotsand the catastrophic damage done by burning down and looting their own/korean neighborhoods and imagine that carbon copied throughout the country. The economy would tumble down like pulling out the bottom peices in a Jenga set.Although the poor would lose more, the rich would have further to fall down when they fell. Goodbye abusing the domestic agriculture trade, goodbye export quota, goodbye American Dynasty. And we’d have to start a new. Law #1: Abortion allowed.

what a nerd.

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I was joking when I told my friend to pick me up from work at 11 pm downtown. But she wasn’t when she said yes. Last night there was an epic reunion with 2 of my best freinds. The best part was, NO SMALL TALK. I think that’s how it works with the cloest freinds, it didn’t really matter how Indiana life was or how many bowls per day are smoked in Eugene, we immidiately just fell back into place laughing and tearing eachother apart. It’s like, when we’re all together things just seem complete. More basements, more fun and folly, more reunions. I kinda miss the days when seeing these friends wasn’t a reunion, it was just the regular.

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I was joking when I told my friend to pick me up from work at 11 pm downtown. But she wasn’t when she said yes. Last night there was an epic reunion with 2 of my best freinds. The best part was, NO SMALL TALK. I think that’s how it works with the cloest freinds, it didn’t really matter how Indiana life was or how many bowls per day are smoked in Eugene, we immidiately just fell back into place laughing and tearing eachother apart. It’s like, when we’re all together things just seem complete. More basements, more fun and folly, more reunions. I kinda miss the days when seeing these friends wasn’t a reunion, it was just the regular.

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Overrated: The Superbowl. Follow up fact–the best commercials are either on a) daytime tv or b) late night tv. Depends on if you’re in the mood to hear fake personal testimonials about a local bartending academy and/or 50 free dinners to Sharri’s courtesy of Rick’s Empire Glass OR penis enlargement pills branded under the fitting name, Extends. How those pills work is like the 8th wonder of the world to me. They’re not like the zoloft commercials, which use depressed seritonin neurotransmitter cartoon bubbles to explain how SSRI’s work. Oh no, Extends just says it works. And has TV ever lied? I think not.

Underrated: Stand-up and Improv Comedy.There is very little I would rather do than watch comedy. It’s a win-win situation.If it’s a good comedian you laugh with them, and if it’s a bad comedian you still laugh at them. I’m watching shitty stand-up on comedy central as i type. This poor guy, his persona has subtley changed in the past 10 minutes…lesson be learned, don’t put on a southern drawl unless you can keep it effortlessly. Tangent: I didn’t use to be a feminist, but I’ve always been a comedy addict.I really resented women, in large part because female comidians were not as funny as male comidians. I mean, what the fuck, how would you like to have your idols be unfunny, and moreover, the butt of most the the jokes of the funny people? That’s like a gay guy loving rap, specifically eminem. But now Tina Fey have saved the world, so I can sleep at night.

Overrated: Cherrios. Why use aol 2.0 when 7.0 is already out?Underrated: root beet, banana chips and oatmeal.Overrated: Small talk. Not the bee’s knees.Underrated: staring conversations with would you rather questions.overrated: being a sports spectator.underrated: being a people-watching spectator.Overrated: entitlement.underrated: thinking about the long string of work others put into creating that ‘thing’ getting that ‘thing’ in your hands.

I can’t sleep, it’s 4 30 am and i have this scene stuck in my head. such a victim to her own body. such a slave. so much pain. so animal. her eye hid inside of her head. rolled all the way back, just white . that noise, that smell, that pain, that fear. It stings me. I hurt. Im scared shitless. im really, really scared. Another high point of the night: months of sobriety to waste because im too much of a dumbass to read a situation correctly and let her walk out that door.TOday im going to bed feeling like my functioning in the world today did more harm than help. I hate these days.

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Overrated: The Superbowl. Follow up fact–the best commercials are either on a) daytime tv or b) late night tv. Depends on if you’re in the mood to hear fake personal testimonials about a local bartending academy and/or 50 free dinners to Sharri’s courtesy of Rick’s Empire Glass OR penis enlargement pills branded under the fitting name, Extends. How those pills work is like the 8th wonder of the world to me. They’re not like the zoloft commercials, which use depressed seritonin neurotransmitter cartoon bubbles to explain how SSRI’s work. Oh no, Extends just says it works. And has TV ever lied? I think not.

Underrated: Stand-up and Improv Comedy.There is very little I would rather do than watch comedy. It’s a win-win situation.If it’s a good comedian you laugh with them, and if it’s a bad comedian you still laugh at them. I’m watching shitty stand-up on comedy central as i type. This poor guy, his persona has subtley changed in the past 10 minutes…lesson be learned, don’t put on a southern drawl unless you can keep it effortlessly. Tangent: I didn’t use to be a feminist, but I’ve always been a comedy addict.I really resented women, in large part because female comidians were not as funny as male comidians. I mean, what the fuck, how would you like to have your idols be unfunny, and moreover, the butt of most the the jokes of the funny people? That’s like a gay guy loving rap, specifically eminem. But now Tina Fey have saved the world, so I can sleep at night.

Overrated: Cherrios. Why use aol 2.0 when 7.0 is already out?Underrated: root beet, banana chips and oatmeal.Overrated: Small talk. Not the bee’s knees.Underrated: staring conversations with would you rather questions.overrated: being a sports spectator.underrated: being a people-watching spectator.Overrated: entitlement.underrated: thinking about the long string of work others put into creating that ‘thing’ getting that ‘thing’ in your hands.

I can’t sleep, it’s 4 30 am and i have this scene stuck in my head. such a victim to her own body. such a slave. so much pain. so animal. her eye hid inside of her head. rolled all the way back, just white . that noise, that smell, that pain, that fear. It stings me. I hurt. Im scared shitless. im really, really scared. Another high point of the night: months of sobriety to waste because im too much of a dumbass to read a situation correctly and let her walk out that door.TOday im going to bed feeling like my functioning in the world today did more harm than help. I hate these days.

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I never know who I will meet or what stories I will hear at the domestic violence shelter. The residents are inspirational. The high amount and spirit of people giving donations at this time of year is incredible… Gotta love last minute tax-write offs…and skepticism. But regardless of any self interested ends, the means are helpful so, meh.And the people I work with are all, so, so interesting. To sterotype my fellow case management assistants: women of all ages, colors and experianes who love to read and express themselves through writing, conversation and art. To sterotype the case managers and staff who run the place: compassionate, patient souls deeper than wells with this uncanny vital energy to understand and give which exudes a rejuvinating sense of hope. These aren’t people, they’re closer to an embodied liezon between the environmental reality and some lofty, intangible ideals of equality, justice and rebirth. They’re like wombs. This all sounds sooooo cheesy; to clairfy, I’m not as much enamored with these women as I am perplexted. I wouldn’t be cut out for a career in social work.These people are nuts.And I never know who I’m going to meet…

…Today I met caught up with someone old and met someone new( nothing blue…hah.) The old first. This summer, I bonded with a lady who defined resiliance. On paper, she with a schizophrenic ex-meth addict. Labels aside, in person she was painfully honest and wise and insightful.One time on the bus, some douchebag dealer spotted her meth tracks and tries to sell her drugs. Do you know how hard to it would be to say no to a thanksgiving feast when you’re ravenous? But since it’s a dry shelter, the choice was her roof or her love. I know what choice I would have made, and that’s why I won’t try meth. She held strong, and money says that’s not the only time she’s had to. She candidly confided in me about meth and what it’s like inside a mind clouded with hallucinations and delusions.I thought I would never see her again when i left work for school because her mental stability was deteriorating…but low and behold, I was thrilled to find out that she is out of the shelter,out of the trenches of schizophrenia, and able to live independently in a welfare-government aided situation where she doesn’t have to pay rent while she is going to school. Damn, I want that. She came by the shelter today to pick up gifts donated to her by ‘santa.’ She looked like a second chance realized, with the same beautiful eyes and grace but the paranoid breathing was gone and she spoke to me as if i were one person, not five. understandabley, she recognized me but couldn’t remember who I was or what i meant to her. So i filled her in on what she meant to me. She was passive about this disconnect, which makes me think that bridgeing her old life to her new life is filled with this dissonance. I can’t explain how great it is to see her overcome what most people would have wallowed in and died a homeless, anonymous death. It is so good for me, so theraputic, to witness this overcoming.

Person New. New co-worker, new knowledge, new perspective.A story teller, a liberal, bleeding heart, a deeply religous and spiritual woman. We worked together from 7 am- 3pm. About 80% of that time was spent storytelling. I admit: Although I love history, I am not a history buff. Wish and I was, and in due time I will be, but there are just a lot of gaps and one-sided stories I have to reinvestigate first. This lady, who is a grandma in her 50 somethings, has a boatload more life experiance and more substantial mental library than i do, obviously, so she helped me out. I now could hold a conversation about the kings of 4th century britain. I could retell the ful story of King Arthur, the knights, the round table, and that whole shabang. I understand what a female anthropologist might say about the demonizing of the female in the story of creation to shift from worshiping goddess’s to male gods. I know the native american method of seeking morality. Will any of this come into handy, ever? welll I’ve gone without it alright for 19 years, so who knows. But now I have 3 recomendations on must read books. So here is the story I originally intended to blog about. After 7 hours of deep conversation, we are eerily similar on the way we see most things, but others, such as the belief in the judeo-christian god, her man jesus chris, and religon in general, are blarringly different. I just want to point out that we trailblaze through life using the same moarl compass to guide ourselves, despite the fact she is a devout christian and I am a religously non-affiliated jew, which makes methink that these labels really don’t matter much.Anyway, she eventually asked me about my love life.I told her. She commented, ” when a man and woman are together and in love, it’s the closest thing to heaven on earth you can get.” Picking up on her exclusive word choice, I asked her out of curiosity,” You’re both a deeply liberal and religous person, so how do you feel about the divinity of a man-man or woman-woman relationship?” She went pale. Her knuckles went white. A deer in headlights. With hesitation, she asked if the guy i liked was really a guy. I almost, ALMOST, lied and just to see where the conversation would go from there. But I told the truth, yes he’s a he, and her color returned. Her anwser clifnotes: Gay is unnatural; love the sinner, hate the sin; the usual sighting of self-experiance as a case study for what is natural and what is not. That last one is my favorite: I am a woman–>I crave man–> therefore, all women naturally crave men too. That means even if a woman was aroused by another woman, that is an excess movelty to her primal attraction to man.That is the way it is, so that is the way it should be.Humph.What the hell could I say? I wasn’t going to change her mind, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to take advantage of the fact that i don’t get awkward and humiliate her. So i tell her that i respect her honesty and opinion because I respect her and the fact that she has an opinion. Then i tell her my point of view, kinsey scale and it is natural for some and humans are just sexual beings yada yada, and that i’ve studied some neuroscience at school, and homosexuality has a correlation with different parts of the prenatalfetal environment and mothers excretion of horomones. She argued with my sciience with more science, which was actually a really poignant argument. What a strange way to end a great conversation.

Like this:

I never know who I will meet or what stories I will hear at the domestic violence shelter. The residents are inspirational. The high amount and spirit of people giving donations at this time of year is incredible… Gotta love last minute tax-write offs…and skepticism. But regardless of any self interested ends, the means are helpful so, meh.And the people I work with are all, so, so interesting. To sterotype my fellow case management assistants: women of all ages, colors and experianes who love to read and express themselves through writing, conversation and art. To sterotype the case managers and staff who run the place: compassionate, patient souls deeper than wells with this uncanny vital energy to understand and give which exudes a rejuvinating sense of hope. These aren’t people, they’re closer to an embodied liezon between the environmental reality and some lofty, intangible ideals of equality, justice and rebirth. They’re like wombs. This all sounds sooooo cheesy; to clairfy, I’m not as much enamored with these women as I am perplexted. I wouldn’t be cut out for a career in social work.These people are nuts.And I never know who I’m going to meet…

…Today I met caught up with someone old and met someone new( nothing blue…hah.) The old first. This summer, I bonded with a lady who defined resiliance. On paper, she with a schizophrenic ex-meth addict. Labels aside, in person she was painfully honest and wise and insightful.One time on the bus, some douchebag dealer spotted her meth tracks and tries to sell her drugs. Do you know how hard to it would be to say no to a thanksgiving feast when you’re ravenous? But since it’s a dry shelter, the choice was her roof or her love. I know what choice I would have made, and that’s why I won’t try meth. She held strong, and money says that’s not the only time she’s had to. She candidly confided in me about meth and what it’s like inside a mind clouded with hallucinations and delusions.I thought I would never see her again when i left work for school because her mental stability was deteriorating…but low and behold, I was thrilled to find out that she is out of the shelter,out of the trenches of schizophrenia, and able to live independently in a welfare-government aided situation where she doesn’t have to pay rent while she is going to school. Damn, I want that. She came by the shelter today to pick up gifts donated to her by ‘santa.’ She looked like a second chance realized, with the same beautiful eyes and grace but the paranoid breathing was gone and she spoke to me as if i were one person, not five. understandabley, she recognized me but couldn’t remember who I was or what i meant to her. So i filled her in on what she meant to me. She was passive about this disconnect, which makes me think that bridgeing her old life to her new life is filled with this dissonance. I can’t explain how great it is to see her overcome what most people would have wallowed in and died a homeless, anonymous death. It is so good for me, so theraputic, to witness this overcoming.

Person New. New co-worker, new knowledge, new perspective.A story teller, a liberal, bleeding heart, a deeply religous and spiritual woman. We worked together from 7 am- 3pm. About 80% of that time was spent storytelling. I admit: Although I love history, I am not a history buff. Wish and I was, and in due time I will be, but there are just a lot of gaps and one-sided stories I have to reinvestigate first. This lady, who is a grandma in her 50 somethings, has a boatload more life experiance and more substantial mental library than i do, obviously, so she helped me out. I now could hold a conversation about the kings of 4th century britain. I could retell the ful story of King Arthur, the knights, the round table, and that whole shabang. I understand what a female anthropologist might say about the demonizing of the female in the story of creation to shift from worshiping goddess’s to male gods. I know the native american method of seeking morality. Will any of this come into handy, ever? welll I’ve gone without it alright for 19 years, so who knows. But now I have 3 recomendations on must read books. So here is the story I originally intended to blog about. After 7 hours of deep conversation, we are eerily similar on the way we see most things, but others, such as the belief in the judeo-christian god, her man jesus chris, and religon in general, are blarringly different. I just want to point out that we trailblaze through life using the same moarl compass to guide ourselves, despite the fact she is a devout christian and I am a religously non-affiliated jew, which makes methink that these labels really don’t matter much.Anyway, she eventually asked me about my love life.I told her. She commented, ” when a man and woman are together and in love, it’s the closest thing to heaven on earth you can get.” Picking up on her exclusive word choice, I asked her out of curiosity,” You’re both a deeply liberal and religous person, so how do you feel about the divinity of a man-man or woman-woman relationship?” She went pale. Her knuckles went white. A deer in headlights. With hesitation, she asked if the guy i liked was really a guy. I almost, ALMOST, lied and just to see where the conversation would go from there. But I told the truth, yes he’s a he, and her color returned. Her anwser clifnotes: Gay is unnatural; love the sinner, hate the sin; the usual sighting of self-experiance as a case study for what is natural and what is not. That last one is my favorite: I am a woman–>I crave man–> therefore, all women naturally crave men too. That means even if a woman was aroused by another woman, that is an excess movelty to her primal attraction to man.That is the way it is, so that is the way it should be.Humph.What the hell could I say? I wasn’t going to change her mind, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to take advantage of the fact that i don’t get awkward and humiliate her. So i tell her that i respect her honesty and opinion because I respect her and the fact that she has an opinion. Then i tell her my point of view, kinsey scale and it is natural for some and humans are just sexual beings yada yada, and that i’ve studied some neuroscience at school, and homosexuality has a correlation with different parts of the prenatalfetal environment and mothers excretion of horomones. She argued with my sciience with more science, which was actually a really poignant argument. What a strange way to end a great conversation.